“Thank you, sir,” Kitty replied with more composure than her racing pulse recommended, “but I am not such a slow top as all that.” Lady Constance was involved in the secrets, clearly.
“Of course you aren’t. Pray, forgive me, ma’am.”
“Do cease all this bowing, sir.” The visitors to the exhibition seemed to flow about her like a quick creek, she in the center of it with her feet sunk in icy water. She was bewildered, and yet her skin prickled with excitement. They were speaking to her as a confidante, as if they knew she knew everything. But, after all, they were spies. Or not quite, if Leam was to be believed. “If he did not tell you about the meeting with Lord Gray, then does he know you are speaking with me like this now?”
Mr. Yale shook his head slowly.
“Why are you? Isn’t this all secret information?”
“In point of fact, we are no longer at it, my lady. We’ve all quit, except Gray, which makes it all the more worrisome that Blackwood has returned to it. He was the one who most wanted out.”
“More to the point, Kitty.” Constance laid a gentle hand on Kitty’s arm. “My cousin trusted you.”
In Shropshire it had all gone too fast, their coming together like a sudden storm. It felt the same now, the rush of the unreal carrying her away. But, just as before, she welcomed it. She longed for it.
“He said he intended to abandon that role and return to Scotland. Why is he doing this?”
Lady Constance lifted slender brows. “We thought perhaps you might know.”
“Did you come here today to speak with me, then?”
The golden beauty nodded.
“I feel as though I am being watched.”
Mr. Yale grinned. “You are.”
“But not only by Mr. Grimm,” Lady Constance said. “Which is why we are seeking your assistance now. Will you help us? In doing so, you will be helping your mother, of course. You cannot like not knowing the truth of matters.”
“What—what do you think I know?”
“Something of what we know.” A glimmer lit Mr. Yale’s eyes. “That there are those who suspect Chamberlayne of consorting with Scottish rebels, perhaps even instigating rebellion and selling state secrets to the French, and that you were asked to provide information corroborating this. Have you?”
She shook her head.
Lady Constance smiled. “Good, because we have a better plan, one that should end this business once and for all.”
“A plan?”
“One that you may not entirely like,” Constance added.
Kitty remained silent.
“Not long ago an English ship with a valuable cargo went missing off the east coast of Scotland.
We want you to pretend to Lord Chamberlayne that you have had an affaire with Leam during which he revealed to you that he was involved in this piracy, and that you are now willing to share this secret with your mother’s trusted friend because Leam broke your heart and you wish to get revenge upon him.”
The wide chamber seemed to close in on Kitty, centuries of vibrant colors and saints’ faces crowding her.
“Perhaps a bit too bluntly put, Con,” Mr. Yale murmured, his gaze steady on her.
“Oh, I don’t imagine so. Leam would not admire her so much if she weren’t capable of a great deal of subtle understanding.”
Kitty was obliged to swallow across the dryness of her tongue. “Involved in the piracy exactly how?”
Lady Constance’s cerulean eyes sparkled. Mr. Yale grinned.
Constance said softly, “You must tell Lord Chamberlayne that Leam knows where the cargo is located and is working with a confederate to see it delivered to Highland rebels intent on separation from England.”
A shiver climbed up Kitty’s spine. She looked from one to the other. “Does he?”
“Not that we know,” Mr. Yale replied. “But if Chamberlayne is involved with the rebels, he won’t want the cargo’s location or its new owners bandied about, will he?”
“What would he do to someone who knew?”
The gentleman’s gaze remained steady. “Plotting rebellion, my lady, makes men anxious to remove obstacles.”
“You believe Lord Chamberlayne is truly consorting with rebels?” She could barely utter the words.
“Frankly we haven’t any idea. But informants suggest he is.”
“Then why does—Why doesn’t he? He told me he doesn’t believe any of it.”
Constance’s eyes shaded. Mr. Yale folded his hands behind his back.
Kitty’s heart raced. “He doesn’t care about it one way or the other, does he?”
“Not in the least.”
“Then why doesn’t he just go home? Isn’t that where he wishes to be anyway?”
Mr. Yale inclined his head, but did not speak. Constance’s soft gaze grew very direct. Kitty could not quite breathe.
He could not be doing it all for her. But they seemed to be saying exactly that. And Lord Gray.
Even Leam had admitted it, to a point. Somehow her safety had something to do with this.
“Does he know you wish me to do this?”
“Oh, no. In fact he mustn’t just yet or he will spoil it all. He won’t like to have you involved.”
“Not remotely,” Mr. Yale murmured.
“Will it put him in danger?”
“Ultimately, if we are right, it will remove him from danger entirely, and you as well.”
Her heart pounded. “How do I know to trust you?”
“Because we care for him. Quite a lot.” Constance smiled with such genuine warmth it could not be a lie. Mr. Yale lifted a brow and grinned from the side of his mouth, looking uncannily boyish.
Kitty took a deep breath, her heart racing. “Yes.”
Her mother could not accuse her of not behaving as herself on the carriage ride, even after they dropped Emily and Madame Roche home. Kitty chatted as though she hadn’t a care in the world.
She’d never had more. The following night at a ball she was to put the plan in motion. Her nerves jittered and tangled.
“Mama,” she said as they entered the foyer, “I am going for a ride.” She could not sit still, not to embroider or read or write letters or even to accept callers.
“I won’t join you, dear. I must finish my correspondence, and Lord Chamberlayne is to take tea here later.” The dowager removed her gloves and set them on the foyer table. “Here is a package for you. Perhaps another token of affection from one of your disinterested suitors.”
Kitty shot the footman a glance. John flashed a grin, then pokered up.
She took up the large envelope and went to the stairs. She did not recognize the hand, but it was firm and bold. Her fingers shook a bit as she tore an opening in the top. This spy business was making her edgy. Gathering information to ruin Lambert had been more hobby than anything else, albeit a wretched one. Last summer when she had turned over that information to the authorities, she had done so in panic and only as a last-minute effort to help Alex. Now she had no such excuse except the conviction in her heart, and she was working with real spies. It made her … fidgety.
Good heavens. Next she would be admitting to pride and disobedience. Then her mother and Leam could have a congratulatory toast over how well they knew her character flaws.
She drew out the contents of the envelope. Halfway up the stair, she paused to grip the rail to steady herself.
It was a crisp, newly printed booklet of sheet music: Racine’s play Phaedra in the original French, set to music. A calling card was tucked into one of the pages. She opened to it, and the Earl of Blackwood’s embossed card dropped into her palm.
Beneath the bars of graceful notes at the top of the page were the lyrics, the playwright’s poetry. It was the prince Hippolyte’s speech to a friend. In it he spoke of the woman he secretly loved although he knew he should not.